


Seismic Scale

by dotfic



Category: Scarecrow and Mrs. King
Genre: Gen, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of "Night Crawler," Amanda tries to find her way back to being okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seismic Scale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amilyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amilyn/gifts).



> a/n: Set after 4x06, "Night Crawler." Written for Amilyn. Thank you to my lovely beta.

Amanda thought she was doing a good job of hiding it, but then Dotty stopped on her way to the front door and put her hand on Amanda's forehead.

"Sweetie, are you coming down with something?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Because you're carrying yourself like you're walking on glass. Do your joints ache?"

The word _ache_ didn't quite cover it. Lee was right about the gas; even after the primary effects had worn off, Amanda still felt like she'd been run over. Even Lee had taken a few days of additional and unprompted sick leave to recover, an event which had made Francine remark to the bullpen, "ladies and gentlemen, Lee Stetson is taking _voluntary_ sick leave. Note the date and time."

As far as Billy and Francine and Lee knew, she was also on sick leave and was in bed. But there was laundry, and Philip needed supplies for his science project, and it was time to throw out the clutter in the basement.

"I'm all right, Mother," Amanda said, ducking away. She grabbed up the stack of magazines she'd sorted for taking out to the trash.

"Really." That was Dotty's you-can't-sell-me-a-bridge voice; suddenly Amanda remembered the time when she was sixteen and had lied to her mother about feeling sick. She'd gone to Stephanie Wilcox's party with the flu, and fainted.

"Really," Amanda said, putting as much energy into her voice as she could.

* * *

True to form, the Agency was very thorough. There was a debriefing where Amanda had told a conference room full of people everything Adi Birol said or did, while Lee gripped her hand under the table, the warmth of his fingers the only thing that kept her voice from shaking. Then there was another kind of debriefing, where Billy sent her to talk to one of the Agency's psychologists, alone.

Amanda was on her way out after the first session, feeling a little shaky, when she caught a whiff of Chanel, and Francine took her by the elbow.

"If you need to talk," Francine murmured, then let go of Amanda as if embarrassed, but she gave her a no-nonsense stare, "you let me know."

That kindness about undid her. Amanda could only manage to nod.

* * *

Jamie's class was having a bake sale fundraiser for their class trip, so Amanda started on the Rice Krispie treats, sitting on one of the tall kitchen stools. It was a compromise. She wasn't standing up, it was almost like resting, and Amanda could make Rice Krispie treats in her sleep. In fact she had once, a few years ago.

The thick scent of melted butter, so tangible Amanda tasted it on her tongue, filled the kitchen. She added the marshmallows as she paged through a magazine. There was an ad for a new Polaroid camera involving an array of snapshots.

 _Do you know her?_

"Amanda..."

 _Do you know her?_

"Amanda!" Dotty spoke louder, and Amanda blinked, the scent of latex snapping away into the sweetness of burning marshmallows. She had no idea when her mother had come into the room, or when she'd moved that close.

The butter and marshmallows were ruined. Amanda turned the burner off.

She leaned her elbows on a clear space on the counter next to the stove, and buried her face in her hands. After a moment she felt her mother's hand rubbing her back.

"Honey, what is it?" Dotty asked.

Amanda raised her head and pushed her hair back. "Must be a bug I picked up on that business trip."

Dotty briskly picked up the saucepan and scooped the burned marshmallows into the trash, then took another pot and put 3 tablespoons of butter into it. "Upstairs," Dotty said, pointing. "Bed, now."

There was no arguing with her mother when she sounded like that, so Amanda obeyed.

* * *

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that windowless room and Adi Birol's face. She had another appointment with the Agency psychologist tomorrow, but Amanda didn't want to sit in an office and talk to a woman in a business suit who had seen this a hundred times in her career. To have this taken apart and deconstructed, reduced to something that fit in a file folder. As if any of the things Lee had told her about his experiences, things that had been done to him, things he'd had to do, could be reduced to that -- the visible scars she'd touched, and the invisible ones she couldn't.

She hoped he was okay -- a restless, bored Lee was a Lee who was dangerous to himself. Amanda put her hand on the phone, hesitating. If she talked to him now, he'd say _are you okay_ she wouldn't be able to lie, because this was the world he lived in, and he knew all of it already. She'd say _no,_ and he'd be over there exceeding the speed limit when he should be resting.

Amanda let go of the phone and turned on her side, tucking her fist up to her chest, remembering the taut-wire tension of his muscles as he'd flinched, believing he was taking a bullet for her, and it scared her, for his sake, how far he was willing to go. Not just for her, but his network of informants, for Francine or Billy.

He called her ten minutes later, and she had to blink back tears because he understood what not to ask, he took such care choosing words for her benefit as he rattled on about something hilarious that had happened in Istanbul in '81. Because they both knew neither of them was okay. Except they were, and there was a ring hidden in the bottom of Amanda's slip drawer. _I love you,_ she said, and he said it back before she'd even finished speaking the last syllable.

* * *

When Amanda sat up in bed, her nightgown soaked in sweat, the time on her clock radio read 2:17. She was sure her scream would've awakened the whole house, dreaded Philip and Jamie having to know of her nightmares.

But the scream was apparently only in her head, because the house stayed hushed and dark around her.

Philip kept looking at her a little too searchingly these days. He'd been acting like that more and more lately. One minute he was all energetic boy, the next acting like a miniature adult, looking after Jamie, cleaning up room without having to be asked. Amanda's pride mingled with a gnawing, hollow sense of worry -- he should be just a kid still.

Jamie could absorb it with fewer bumps. Her nightmares would seem similar enough to his recently abandoned fears about monsters in the closet. To her youngest son, a nightmare was a nightmare, but Philip would look at her, too quiet, understanding there was more to it.

Amanda got out of bed, put on her pink terrycloth bathrobe, and went to the bathroom to splash water on her face.

She went to sit halfway down the steps, hugging her knees to her chest, listening to the clock tick, the hum of the refrigerator's compressor going on, the distant bark of a neighbor's dog. To heck with Adi Birol. He was a terrorist, a worm, and Amanda King wouldn't let a terrorist control her life. She took a deep breath and let it out, subsiding the burn of fury that shot through her.

Her hands were still shaking.

There was the soft scuff of a slipper on carpeting above her, the creak of the stairs, and then Dotty sat next to Amanda on the step. She was wearing what seemed to be a silk robe with tiny flowers all over it -- a gift from a boyfriend, perhaps.

Amanda waited to see what her mother might say, but Dotty said nothing. She sat beside her, their shoulders touching, as they listened together to the ticking clock.

Then Dotty reached for Amanda's hand, and held it tightly while they waited out the night.


End file.
